


Dancing with Danger

by Kisleth



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, talking things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: For a prompt by dellastreet1933 on tumblr"So Phil is injured on a mission and he's trying to hide it because things went sideways and now he and Clint have to escape DANGEROUS people. Anyway he slowly gets weaker and weaker and Clint has to keep them safe 'cause after a point Phil can't even hold a gun steady. And preferably there is a happy ending."We are always accepting new prompts at ourtumblraccount, so feel free to drop by with a little headcanon or ask.





	Dancing with Danger

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't think of a title, this one is a bit of a stretch. Enjoy the fic!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

No one was supposed to get hurt. They were supposed to go in undercover, schmooze, get the intel their mole had for them and get out. For a mission, it was supposed to be fairly laid back. They were at a charity gala after all. It was supposed to be fancy clothes, tiny foods and dancing. It certainly started out that way, but now Clint and Phil were separated from Nat and Melinda and there was so much blood.

Clint was afraid that a big vein had been hit when Phil had ducked around a corner. It wasn’t quite artery level but… he couldn’t find anything positive about this.

He worked quickly because he wasn’t sure if Phil had left a trail of blood behind him from when they ducked into this private bathroom off a very fancy office. He pulled off his shoes as quickly as possible while Phil unbuttoned his shirt one-handed. Socks peeled off to used for bandages, Clint whipped off his bow tie, glad it wasn’t a clip on so he could make a tourniquet for Phil’s arm. Carefully, he helped Phil out of his ruined jacket and moved the dress shirt so he could use one sock as the gauze and the other to tie it in place.

“Do you think they saw your face?” Clint asked, voice low. They had been leaving when they were caught. If they were lucky, the people after them wouldn’t have seen their faces and they could hopefully walk out of this labyrinth of a building the gala was being held in.

“No idea,” Phil said through gritted teeth. It made Clint’s stomach clench and twist and he hated the feeling and the cause for it. He tied the tourniquet and made sure it wouldn’t be so tight that it would do irreparable damage to Phil’s arm.

“Your jacket is pretty toast…” Clint helped him stand up and slipped Phil’s gun from the neat harness that was cleverly built into the lining of this particular suit. “Here, hopefully we won’t need it, but we’ve been sorry before.”

Phil tucked it away into his pocket and waited as Clint slipped Phil’s necktie out of its knot. With some clever engineering, tucking, and a flat knot, Clint was about to make it into a sling under the dress shirt that would come out between the buttons to hold Phil’s arm.

Strategically folded, Phil’s jacket had no visible bloodstain and was artfully draped over the slung arm, effectively hiding it. Lastly, Clint put his jacket around Phil’s shoulders and an arm around his waist. Injury dressed and effectively hidden, they could work on slipping out of the gala.

“Kiss for luck?” Clint asked, leaning in a little.

“We don’t need luck.” They had gotten through far worse with far less before and they both knew it.

“Well, what if I need the kiss?”

Phil pretended to consider while Clint pretended to be offended, but it smoothed away pretty quickly when Phil covered his mouth with his own. Clint sighed into it and cupped Phil’s jaw gently as he kissed him. He’d love to be romantic and say that time stood still, but they didn’t even have the time for that. Phil wobbled a little as they parted and Clint tightened his grip on him.

“You okay?”

“Never better.” Phil didn’t sound completely confident, his voice tight.

“Liar.” Clint’s mouth twisted into a frown as Phil grimaced. “Alright, let’s get out of here. I think this place has lost its charm, and I don’t mean just the bathroom.” He forced a little smile when that got a snort out of Phil and they headed toward the door as one.

It told a lot about their history together that they needn’t say a word to move perfectly in sync despite the blood loss making it harder for Phil to remain as coordinated as Clint. The slick leather shoes on polished tile certainly didn’t do them any favors, either. They still managed to maneuver the upper floors, slowly and carefully making their way down toward the main doors.

The building, once out of the office area, was pretty open plan and they could see their goal from the fifth floor. They just had to get down to it…

There was no sign of Melinda or Natasha as they slowly snuck their way down each curved flight of stairs. Clint’s grip around Phil’s waist was increasingly tight so Phil could just fake walking down the stairs as Clint carried him.

On the third floor, they could look more relaxed and blended in with the slight crowd there. Clint lifted two empty champagne glasses to make it look like they had been happily drinking them and hopefully people would assume the sway in Phil’s step was due to intoxication than blood loss. Of course, he highly doubted that 90% of the people here would think “blood loss” before “drunk”. Not all of them were cynical or had a job like his.

As they neared the stairs that would lead them to the ground floor and their freedom, Phil tensed. Clint was halfway through tapping a pattern against Phil’s side to ask him what was wrong when Phil dragged him a few steps to the side into an alcove.

“Phil, whatー” He hissed before Phil reached up and buried the fingers of one hand into his hair to haul him into a kiss. Clint was not proud of the whimper that escaped his throat, but as his mind caught up, he figured it was probably good for the cover. He could hide Phil’s face like this while letting him check over Clint’s shoulder if the coast was clear.

If the continued kissing said anything, it wasn’t.

He wouldn’t complain (wouldn’t dream of it, not when Phil was giving him the best kiss he possibly could without making Clint’s brain completely dribble out of his ear) if this went on forever. Except for the tourniquet on Phil’s arm that was suffocating nerves and tissues… he couldn’t keep it like that for too long. They needed to get him out, get him to safety. And that was what Clint was supposed to be doing, not feeling him up and sucking on his bottom lip. But he continued doing it for the security of their cover, and also because feeling Phil up like this with careful wandering hands was the best way to check him over for any other injuries.

After too many and yet not enough minutes, Phil broke the kiss and Clint took it as the cue to go and get the out of here. It was a miracle that they made it out of the front doors without too many more delays. Clint felt his hopes starting to lift when someone stepped up on Phil’s other side whose very posture screamed ‘private security’. A private security that Clint and Phil didn’t want to get anywhere near.

Instincts warred with learned skills as he felt Phil start to shake against his side. It had to be blood loss and exhaustion and stress all coming together into a hot mix that would prevent him from lifting his gun and shooting it without possibly hurting a civilian. Clint gently steered him in the opposite direction, praying to anyone who might be listening to let them get out of here. Out of sight, out of mind, and hopefully on to the extraction point.

Halfway down the driveway, alarm rang out and Clint hauled Phil with him into the hedges. He covered Phil’s mouth when a pained noise escaped him. In the darkness of the evening, they couldn’t see each other too well but Clint still tried to send Phil his most apologetic look. He ghosted a kiss over Phil’s temple and guided them carefully through the tangle of branches. Jagged edges tugged at his shirt as he bodily guarded Phil’s injured shoulder, not wanting anything to agitate it more than it already had been.

Phil squeezed Clint’s hand sharply enough that it made him stop and a few seconds later, he heard people approaching. Looked like these hearing aids were on their way out or the batteries were dying. Power was still an issue with the combination models, but they had really needed some connection to a base with four operatives lives at stake here. No electronics had been allowed into the gala but they couldn’t prove that Clint’s hearing aids were anything but what they were. Clint could have been busted right then and there, but thankfully that wasn’t in the cards that night.

They stood frozen together, waiting and standing as still as possible. It wasn’t still as Clint liked because a few minutes in, Phil started to tremble hard enough to shake the leaves that surrounded them. He carefully drew Phil into his arms and closed his eyes for just a second in a silent prayer that he would be able to get Phil out of here in time. He felt the blood seeping into his own shirt through the jacket Phil wore and Clint knew that wasn’t good. It certainly didn’t make them look inconspicuous anymore.

The men moved away and Clint just barely resisted squeezing Phil in relief. Instead, he brushed his lips over Phil’s cheek in a butterfly kiss before whispering as low as he could in his ear, “we need to move as soon as you can regain your feet.”

He held Phil for two more long minutes before Phil pulled back, swaying a little. Clint bit the inside of his cheek and returned to his protective position by Phil’s bad shoulder so they could move on and make it our of the hedges and onto the streets.The unfortunately empty streets. If they were caught out here, they were sitting ducks. In a neighborhood like this, there were no cars parked along the road for cover, no mail drop-offs. There wasn’t anything but fancy stucco walls and thick hedges. And most of them were dried to shit from the drought. Their chances of making it home were disappearing quickly and they both knew it.

“Go. You can make the extraction point if you leave me behind.” It’s slurred but Clint was still able to understand what Phil was trying to say. He gripped his waist a little tighter and started picking up his pace.

“No way in hell, Coulson.” Clint growled as he turned a corner. He had this whole community memorized and he knew where to go to get them out. Too bad there wasn’t a car to steal. They really needed to get out of there fast. The night was so still that even a car would have attracted attention, but at least a car would have better protection from bullets than just a tuxedo. (R&D needed to make bulletproof suits, and soon. Also hire a fancy tailor. It was for Clint’s peace of mind almost as much as it would be for Phil’s wardrobe.)

“Clint…”

“I said no.” Clint would not give on this. He still had things he needed to do. Like propose. The least Phil could do was make it to the dinner reservation in two weeks. Right? It would be so inconsiderate otherwise.

And now, Clint had gotten to that awful weird sarcastic joking part of panic. At least it was all in his head. This would be a perfect time for Natasha to roll her eyes and shake her head at him, her curls bouncing in the way that always made Clint want to tug on them—even if the resulting slap stung way more than any slap should.

“Phil.” Clint swallowed. “Just no.” He wasn’t going to let this happen. They were damn well getting out of here.

The main gate was in view when they heard it. A car. Clint swore under his breath and picked up the pace, but Phil lost his legs out from under him. Clint stumbled and pulled him up into his arms, but now, there was no way either of them were going to be able to shoot a gun. They were not going to make it to their reservations, Clint wasn’t going to get to propose, and man, Clint knew that they were going out in a situation much like this one but he didn’t think it was going to be this exact one.

“Phil—” Clint began as the car came to a stop and the passenger window lowered to reveal… Nat and Mel. “Oh, hi.”

“Get in the car, Barton.” Mel gave Clint a pointed look even as Nat climbed out and opened the door to help Clint and Phil get into the back. Once situated, she shut the door and climbed back into the front.

“How did you—?” Clint began but Phil was the one to interrupt this time.

“Tracker in your hearing aids. Important feature for the combat grade ones if you insist on trying to catch yourself on crumbling buildings.”

“It was one time.”

“One time too many.” Phil sighed. He was pillowed on Clint’s chest, pale and grimacing in pain. Clint tipped his head and kissed Phil’s temple. It earned him a small smile and finally, Clint began to relax. Maybe they’d make that reservation after all. And maybe the people after them would realize they got out and chase them down.

Well. No time like the present.

“Phil?” He waited until unfocused eyes locked on his own. “My timing sucks unless it’s arrows so, marry me?”

“Sorry, I think the blood loss is talking. What?” Phil’s words didn’t discourage Clint one bit. He could see the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, just the faintest hint that he was teasing him… which honestly didn’t surprise Clint one bit.

Clint cleared his throat over-dramatically enough to make Natasha snort and Mel roll her eyes so hard Clint swore he could hear it. “My darling Phillip—”

Phil interrupted him by hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and gently tugging him down into a kiss. “Of course, I will.”

“Good. You remember you said yes while we start sticking you with needles.” Natasha told him with a wicked glint in her eye, and needles, wipes, and tubing in her hands.

Clint hadn’t even seen her grab Phil’s ‘Oh Shit Kit’ from under the bench seat they were sprawled on. (Not that that surprised him, he’d only had eyes for Phil after all.) The ‘Oh Shit Kit’ was a glorious thing, fine-tuned over the high-traffic years of Clint, Phil, Natasha, and the rest of Strike Team Delta getting into the thick of it. Supplies for a blood transfusion were almost commonplace in first aid kits when it came to SHIELD at this point.

Clint helped pull his jacket away from Phil’s uninjured shoulder to bare an arm for Natasha to stab before carefully raising his hands to cuff his sleeve up for the other end of the tube. It wasn’t easy while they were moving. Mel calmly and deftly moved to evade and lose anyone that might be following them but that made for a bit of a bumpy ride. They’d endured worse (potholes, dirt roads, and no roads for example).

By the time they pulled into SHIELD, Phil was no longer as deathly pale and cold to touch. Clint disconnected the transfusion tube from his arm when the medics confirmed that Phil was stable enough. It took a bit of finagling to get out of the car without jostling the shoulder, and Phil’s drying blood had glued them together a little. It made for a little stress-induced titter of laughter between Clint and Phil, which surprisingly released a bit of the tension in the air. They’d made it out (again) and would continue to defy the odds through sheer stubbornness and skill.

And the best part was that they’d continue doing it together as they’d always done. As teammates, as friends, as husbands.


End file.
